Rethinking Nonviolent Action and Contentious Politics: Political Cultures of
Nonviolent Opposition in the Indian Independence Movement and Brazil’s Landless
Workers Movement
SEAN CHABOT
Eastern Washington University
STELLAN VINTHAGEN
Göteborg University
The emerging synthesis between nonviolent action and contentious politics
studies has yielded important insights.
Yet it also reproduces the
dichotomy between politics and culture that continues to haunt both fields.
Extending recent work by Jean-Pierre Reed and John Foran, our
contribution introduces the political cultures of nonviolent opposition
concept to forge a new synthesis, one that recognizes the politics of
nonviolent culture and the culture of nonviolent politics. We apply our
theoretical framework to two empirical cases, the Indian independence
movement and the Landless Workers Movement in Brazil (known as
Movimento Sem Terra or MST), and conclude with ideas for further
research on political cultures of nonviolent opposition.
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INTRODUCTION
As peaceful social movements continue to exert powerful influence on governments and
societies throughout the world, scholars focusing on nonviolent action and contentious
politics increasingly realize that they have much to learn from each other. Informed by
previous attempts at synthesis, Kurt Schock’s (2005) Unarmed Insurrections breaks new
ground in merging nonviolent action and contentious politics studies.. While crossfertilization started during the 1990s (Sommer 2000; McAdam and Tarrow 2000; Zunes,
Kurtz, and Beth 1999; Ackerman and Kruegler 1994; McCarthy and Kruegler 1993),
Schock is the first to develop a comprehensive theoretical framework based on key
statements and debates in both fields. The purpose of our contribution to this volume is
to extend—and where necessary revise—Schock’s work, and apply our own approach to
the Indian independence movement and the contemporary landless workers movement in
Brazil (Movimento Sem Terra or MST). Although we appreciate the analytical clarity
and empirical applicability of Unarmed Insurrections, we also feel it reproduces serious
blind spots in nonviolent action and contentious politics studies. In our view, both areas
of research tend to rely on dichotomies between politics and culture, which constrain
explorations of intersections between these domains.
Following the perspective of Gene Sharp, the undisputed pioneer in the field,
nonviolent action scholars generally base their theories on social-scientific distinctions
between rational choice and ethical behavior, objective explanations and subjective
interpretations, and especially strategic interests and moral values. Sharp’s The Politics
of Nonviolent Action, for instance, states at the outset that he will focus on nonviolent
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action as a political technique rather than a cultural way of life: “[R]elationships between
this technique and ethical problems, and between the technique and belief systems
exhorting to nonviolent behavior, are for the most part not discussed here” (Sharp
1973:vi; see also Sharp 1990:2). His successors generally adopt the same theoretical
perspective, treating “pragmatic” and “principled” nonviolent action as separate protest
techniques, and politics and culture as separate domains (Schock 2005:36-37; Burrowes
1996:100). Such binaries lead scholars to underestimate the culture of nonviolent
politics, the politics of nonviolent culture, and connections between them.
Although they now pay more attention to cultural processes than in the past,
leading contentious politics scholars continue to build their arguments on categorical
oppositions, treating culture as a mediator between political institutions and collective
action (Williams 1977:99). Take, for instance, the latest dynamics of contention model
developed by Doug McAdam, one of the field’s most influential scholars. It assigns
more importance to cultural mechanisms like identity formation and meaning-making
than McAdam’s (1982) old political process model, but still conceives of them as setting
the stage for organized political action and governmental reform—not as politically
significant in their own right (Goodwin and Jasper 2004:211). While we recognize that
politics and culture should not be conflated, we suggest that students of contentious
politics should pay more attention to the interplay between these spheres of social life.
We are not alone in raising this crucial theoretical issue. Particularly within the
contentious politics field, scholars are increasingly contesting the structuralist bias of
prominent figures like McAdam and his collaborators Charles Tilly and Sidney Tarrow,
challenging them to take the politics-culture nexus more seriously (McAdam, Tarrow,
3
and Tilly 2001). In Rethinking Social Movements, for example, Jeff Goodwin and James
Jasper (2004) initiate a debate about the mediation model of culture and include
important statements from both sides of the argument (see also V. J. Reed, 2005;
Duncombe 2002; Mansbridge and Morris 2001; Buechler 1999; Alvarez, Dagnino, and
Escobar1998). But while their collected volume confirms that the field is in flux, it does
not offer a concrete alternative to the theoretical framework favored by researchers like
McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly. In our opinion, the most promising recent work in this
regard comes from Jean-Pierre Reed and John Foran (2002), who propose the new
concept “political cultures of opposition” as a way to explore the fertile ground between
politics and culture. As sociology of revolution specialists, Reed and Foran are on the
margins of the contentious politics field, but we feel that their concept allows us to
rethink linkages with nonviolent action scholarship, particularly in the cases of the Indian
independence movement and the MST in Brazil.
The following section introduces a new concept for studying nonviolent action
and contentious politics, “political cultures of nonviolent opposition,” based on the
theoretical efforts of Reed and Foran. This concept allows for a new synthesis that
moves beyond current culture-politics dichotomies and relies on an alternative view of
power. The third section examines the four elements shaping political cultures of
nonviolent opposition—emotional experiences, cultural idioms, ideologies, and
organizational structures—in the Indian independence movement led by Gandhi and the
ongoing MST in Brazil. It suggests that some nonviolent social movements should be
seen as both pragmatic and principled, both political and cultural, rather than either one
or the other. To conclude, we show how the elements discussed in the previous section
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intersect and connect with specific political cultures of nonviolent opposition, and
suggest several areas for further research.
POLITICAL CULTURES OF NONVIOLENT OPPOSITION IN THEORY
The theoretical framework developed by Reed and Foran (2002) is a solid basis for
constructing a new synthesis of nonviolent action and contentious politics studies—a
synthesis that does not reproduce the politics-culture binary. Reed and Foran’s concept
of political cultures of opposition is innovative in several ways. First of all, it avoids the
connotations of the conventional political culture concept, popularized by American
political scientists during the 1960s, which aimed at categorizing entire societies as
“traditional” or “modern,” according to the dominant institutions and values of Western
democracies (e.g., Pye and Verba 1965; Almond and Verba 1963). In contrast, Reed and
Foran (2002:338-339) seek to capture “the plurivocal and potentially radical ways of
understanding one’s circumstances that various groups within a society sometimes
articulate to make sense of the political and economic changes they are living through.”
They emphasize, moreover, that each society—whether Western or non-Western—may
contain multiple oppositional ways of understanding. Secondly, Reed and Foran move
beyond the American sociology of culture tradition by incorporating the distinctive
insights of scholars like Ann Swidler (1986), William Sewell (1985), Theda Skocpol
(1985), and James Scott (1990) into one complex theoretical framework, and by
emphasizing the oppositional potential of the amalgam of emotional experiences, cultural
idioms, ideologies, and organizational structures
5
More specifically, Reed and Foran propose that emotional experiences, cultural
idioms, ideologies, and organizational structures may come together in the form of
political cultures of opposition, which in turn may allow broad coalitions of contentious
actors (across class, race, and/or gender identities) to initiate and sustain social
movements or revolutions (Reed and Foran 2002:339-340).
FIGURE 1 ABOUT HERE
Figure 1 displays how, in specific situations, political cultures of opposition draw on, and
in turn shape, diverse cultural products and processes. The solid lines indicate direct
relationships, while the dotted lines refer to more indirect linkages between ideologies
and emotional experiences as well as between cultural idioms and organizational
structures. All connections with the central element—political cultures of opposition—
fluctuate and may be reciprocal (Reed and Foran 2002:340; see also Foran 2005:21).
Reed and Foran apply this framework to the Revolution in Nicaragua that led to the
overthrow of the Somoza regime in 1979. They show, among other things, that the
political culture of Sandanismo emerged from and affected a complex combination of
cultural influences: (1) an ideological mixture of Marxism and Sandino’s writings; (2)
folkloric cultural idioms of social justice, nationalism, democracy, and Christian values;
(3) subjective experiences of dictatorship and exploitation as well as emotions of patriotic
love, anger at the Somoza regime, and popular solidarity; and (4) organizational
structures of the Sandanista Front for National Liberation (FLSN) and a broad multi-class
alliance (Reed and Foran 2002:351-360). This fluid and temporary amalgam of political-
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cultural forces helped catalyze and propel the Sandanista Revolution during the late1970s.
Building on Reed and Foran’s groundbreaking work, we propose the concept of
political cultures of nonviolent opposition and suggest that it allows us to synthesize
nonviolent action and contentious politics scholarship without perpetuating unnecessary
barriers between political and cultural processes. While we accept the way Reed and
Foran perceive political-cultural dynamics, we focus on one particular form of collective
struggle: nonviolent opposition. Before we proceed, therefore, let us clarify what we
mean by nonviolence.
Like Sharp (1973:64), most contemporary scholars define nonviolence as the
absence of intentional physical harm to other people and nonviolent action as a pragmatic
technique for challenging authorities through indirect resistance or direct intervention.
But such “negative nonviolence” only precludes visible and interpersonal violence; it
does not target the institutionalized forms of violence that are embedded in a society’s
patterns of interaction and cultural practices. In contrast, we use the term nonviolent
opposition to refer to “positive nonviolence” against structures of oppression—such as
colonialism, economic exclusion, racism, homophobia, and sexism—that are deeplyrooted in collective ways of life (Galtung 1969:183).
Positive nonviolence combines love for self, other human beings, and
communities, on the one hand, with nonviolent action campaigns against unjust laws,
authorities, and institutions, on the other. It requires commitment to moral principles like
(1) maintaining courage in the face of repression; (2) seeking reconciliation with, rather
than defeat of, opponents; (3) attacking oppressive systems instead of oppressors; (4)
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accepting self-suffering without causing harm to others; (5) rejecting physical means of
violence; and (6) retaining hope that social justice is possible. But it also promotes
contentious interaction in public life according to specific strategic guidelines: (1)
carefully research and analyze oppressive situations before organizing protest campaigns;
(2) educate state actors and the public about the issues at stake; (3) prepare for the
spiritual, mental, and practical challenges of nonviolent activism; (4) keep lines of
communication with authorities, bystanders, and fellow activists open; (5) when
negotiations fail, engage in nonviolent direct action by applying methods like mass
marches, boycotts, and sit-ins; and (6) create alternative institutions and “beloved
communities” in which social differences no longer produce structural violence and
oppression (Bondurant 1971; King 1967; Shridharani 1939; Gregg 1935). Contrary to
Sharp, therefore, we argue that the transformative potential of nonviolent opposition is
greatest when moral principles and instrumental strategies, grassroots communitybuilding and dramatic protest campaigns, as well as cultural resistance and state-centered
politics reinforce each other (see V.J. Reed 2005:286-315; Duncombe 2002:5-9; Buechler
2000:163-164).
Our approach to nonviolence and nonviolent opposition reflects an alternative
understanding of power in the modern world. Social scientists commonly follow Weber
in assuming that power derives from the legitimacy to use violence and coercion
possessed by those controlling the state, who can “realize their own will in a communal
action even against the resistance of others” (Weber,1946:180). For example, Sharp
(1973:7; see also Sharp 1990:3) begins with the ability of individuals or groups to wield
power “for political objectives, especially by governmental institutions or by people in
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opposition to or in support of such institutions.” He then argues that political power
primarily relies on the consent of ordinary citizens, who can always decide to withdraw
their obedience and organize effective nonviolent action against tyrannical governments,
if they have the necessary will, courage, and knowledge (Sharp 1973:8-16, 25-32, 38).
Contentious politics scholars, in contrast, usually avoid the individualism and
voluntarism of Sharp’s view and prefer structural theories of power emphasizing the
struggle between dominant political institutions and mobilized protest organizations (see
also Lukes 2005; Vinthagen 2005; Foucault 2004; Burrowes 1996; McGuinness 1993;
Martin 1989). But they generally accept Weber’s notion that power is a zero-sum game
in which one group’s gain is another group’s loss. We agree with Seth Kreisberg (1992),
however, that power can also be a constructive force for personal growth, dialogue,
cooperation, and liberation—a force that benefits individuals, groups, and communities
throughout society. While the Weberian perspective highlights how the dominant have
power over the dominated, our perspective emphasizes that positive nonviolence may
transform oppressive situations into settings promoting power with, where people with
different positions in systems of oppression “can fulfill their needs and develop their
capacities not at the expense of others but by acting in concert with others” (Kreisberg
1992:84). Instead of taking for granted that the struggle for power necessarily involves
irreconcilable conflicts between winners (oppressors) and losers (oppressed), therefore,
we allow for the possibility that power can expand, enabling people and social groups
with diverse national, racial, class, or sexual identities to work together toward common
goals.
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Drawing on these alternative conceptualizations of nonviolence and power, we
argue that political cultures of nonviolent opposition are meaningful when they transform
human relationships defined by domination into human relationships defined by love,
dialogue, and cooperation. The purpose of political cultures of nonviolent opposition,
moreover, is not merely to take over control of states—and replace one tyranny with
another—but to expand the power to promote social justice within states, between states
and societies, within societies, and between societies. To illustrate the theoretical and
empirical relevance of our concept, we will apply it to two cases that are usually studied
separately. While the Indian independence movement is a common reference for
students of nonviolent action, scholars generally do not consider the contemporary
landless workers movement in Brazil (MST) to be a nonviolent social movement. But
although MST activists do not use the same terminology as Gandhian activists, the
analysis below demonstrates that their political culture of opposition is no less nonviolent
in practice.
POLITICAL CULTURES OF NONVIOLENT OPPOSITION IN PRACTICE
In our comparison of political cultures of nonviolent opposition in the Indian
independence movement and Brazil’s MST, we do not claim to offer new evidence or
comprehensive analysis. By applying and extending the theoretical framework proposed
by Reed and Foran (2002), however, we provide new insights into the practical realities
of the politics of nonviolent culture, the culture of nonviolent politics, and intersections
between them. For each social movement, we will briefly illustrate how under certain
circumstances emotional experiences, cultural idioms, ideologies, and organizational
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structures came together to produce a political culture of nonviolent opposition (see also
Foran 2005:18-24). As indicated in figure 1, linkages between emotional experiences
and cultural idioms, and between ideologies and organizational structures, were more
direct and visible than those between emotional experiences and ideologies, and between
organizational structures and cultural idioms. Each element’s connection to the political
culture of nonviolent opposition, moreoever, was immediate and explicit. We emphasize,
though, that the evolving relationships between elements—not the nature of each element
in itself—and the ever-changing social contexts of these relationships enabled the
formation of political cultures of nonviolent opposition. How actors actually constructed
such relationships and responded to their social contexts was unpredictable and partly
depended on their creativity and effort. We now turn to an empirical examination of
these causal dynamics in our two cases.
Emotional experiences
During the Indian independence movement, which grew into a nationwide phenomenon
after World War I, the Indian population experienced the structural oppression of
colonialism on a daily basis. But there was one transformative event—the massacre in
Amritsar—that drew widespread public attention to the underlying brutality of British
rule, inciting emotions of righteous anger and disgust at the imperial government among
men and women from diverse religions, ethnic groups, and castes (Sewell 1996). On
April 13, 1919, British General Dyer, who had recently taken over military command in
Amritsar, ordered his soldiers to open fire on a crowd of peaceful demonstrators, who had
gathered in the park of Jallianwala Bagh to express support for the Anti-Rowlatt Bill
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campaign led by Gandhi, which opposed restrictions on civil liberties (Fein 1977:24-30;
Furneaux 1963:33-47). Dyer told his troops to aim at the areas where most people had
congregated and particularly at the demonstrators who were desperately trying to climb
over the walls surrounding the park. The firing lasted for about 6 minutes, killing
hundreds of adults and children—mostly from gunshot wounds in the back—and injuring
more than 1200. The general refused to arrange for medical assistance after the massacre
and later declared that he wanted to send a moral message to all Indian nationalists and
show them that resistance against the British Empire was seditious and futile (Draper
1985:155).
After this horrific event, the British Raj tried to contain the negative publicity in
India and abroad by appointing Lord Hunter to lead a committee to investigate the matter.
But to prevent a cover-up, Indian nationalists organized their own committee, with
Gandhi as a prominent member, and published their own report. The Hunter
Committee’s report resulted in Dyer’s early retirement, but it did not accuse him or other
Punjab authorities of criminal misconduct (Fein 1977:184). The report of the Indian
National Congress, in contrast, was a harsh indictment of General Dyer, the Punjabi
government, and the British Viceroy. Based on verbal evidence provided by authorities,
interviews with 1,700 witnesses, and dramatic photographs of the victims, it condemned
the general for his “calculated piece of inhumanity towards utterly innocent and unarmed
men, including children” and argued that the Viceroy “clothed the officials [in Punjab]
with indemnity in indecent haste” (Draper 1985:201-202).
The emotional impact of the Amritsar massacre, the Hunter Committee’s failure
to punish responsible parties, and the independent report by Indian nationalists on the
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political consciousness of the Indian population was dramatic, widespread, and lasting.
In response to their feelings of anger and fear, people who had previously remained on
the sidelines now joined the Indian independence movement in the hope of building a less
oppressive society. Nationalist leaders who had earlier called for political reforms and
dominion status now demanded complete autonomy from the British Empire. Motivated
by indignation, Gandhi himself—like other prominent figures in India—publicly
renounced his loyalty to the British Empire, returned the medals he had received for his
contributions during World War I, and fully committed to the struggle to end British rule
in India (Chabot 2003:50; Andrews 1930:230).
The MST in Brazil fights structural oppression caused by economic
marginalization, agrarian modernization, unequal distribution of land, and neoliberal
globalization rather than colonialism. As with the Indian independence movement,
however, there is a transformative event in the MST’s history that has had a powerful
influence on activists’ emotional experiences of social injustice and on the expansion of
the social movement. On April 17, 1996, 1,500 MST activists were blocking a highway
in the state of Pará, near Eldorado dos Carajas, to challenge the government’s refusal to
settle families occupying land on the Macaxeira plantation. Late in the afternoon, 155
military police troops arrived at the site and surrounded the demonstrators. Then, around
4:30 pm, they began firing on the unarmed crowd of men, women, and children with
machine guns and rifles. The MST activists tried to run away, but by the time the
shooting stopped hundreds of bodies lay on the road, with 19 dead and 57 seriously
injured. The local media later quoted Mario Collares Pantoja, the military police’s
commander on that day, as saying: “Mission complete. Nobody saw anything” (Branford
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and Rocha 2002:142). But the commander was not aware that someone had captured
most of the violence on video camera. This footage later appeared on television and
caused a public outcry in Brazil and abroad. Among other things, it showed that at least
10 of the dead activists had been executed with bullets in the head and neck, while 7
others had been killed with a machete. Several days later, moreover, a witness testified
that local landowners had bribed the police to kill prominent MST leaders and end the
protest campaign (Branford and Rocha 2002:139-147; Wright and Wolford 2003:208).
In response to the massacre of Eldorado de Carajás, the outrage of Brazilian
citizens, and pressure by international human rights organizations, president Cardoso
appeared on Brazilian television, calling for punishment of those involved and allowing
the families on the Macaxeira estate to settle and set up the Formosa camp. But the
federal government had little influence on state authorities in Pará, who continued to
defend the position of the landowners and refused to assist survivors of the massacre.
Initially, none of the landowners or military police officers involved faced legal
repercussions. An internal investigation in 1996 by the Pará state police found the 155
troops innocent, while a jury acquitted commander Pantoja and his superiors for lack of
evidence in 1999 (Branford and Rocha 2002:145-147). This decision was overturned,
however, and in 2002 two of the responsible police officers received long jail terms
(Wright and Wolford 2003:209).
At first, the moral shock (Jasper and Poulsen 1995) of the Eldorado de Carajás
tragedy made MST activists sad and fearful of more brutal repression by military police
troops and paramilitary forces hired by landowners. But, buoyed by growing support for
landless workers and the MST throughout Brazil, they translated their anger and anxiety
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into greater commitment to their struggle for land occupations, agrarian reform, and
social justice than before (Branford and Rocha 2002:144-147). Since 1996, MST
activists have commemorated the anniversary of the massacre of Eldorado de Carajás and
constructed several monuments to the memory of those who lost their lives (Wright and
Wolford 2003;209). The emotional resonance of this transformative event remains a
powerful force for the MST, as it continues to expand its activities and networks both
within and outside of Brazil.
Cultural idioms
To channel and tap into popular emotions, participants in the Indian independence
movement invoked folkloric language from India’s past. As the primary symbolic and
political leader, Gandhi was particularly important in selecting and reinventing a broad
range of Indian traditions with relevance for the struggle against British rule. Here we
will just highlight four significant Hindu terms that Gandhi popularized and reinterpreted
to draw upon and radicalize existing principles, beliefs, practices, values, and narratives.
The first term, swadeshi, refers to a traditional way of life based on economic selfreliance, local production, and fulfillment of basic human needs. According to Gandhi,
Western industrialization and modernization were fundamentally flawed, because they
encouraged people to focus on selfish interests and widened the gap between rich and
poor. With the familiar notion of swadeshi, he suggested that the rural village should
once again become central in Indian society, because it would provide the largest
proportion of the population—the wealthy as well as the destitute—with moral purpose,
self-discipline, and means of survival (Hardiman 2003:77-78; Terchek 1998:112-114;
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Fox 1989:46-47, 54-59). Without widespread access to employment and necessary
material resources, the Indian independence movement would fail to bring liberation for
the most oppressed people in the country.
The second term, sarvodaya, emphasized commitment to serving the poor and
marginalized—not just oneself or one’s family—as a way to promote public welfare. To
put this traditional Hindu ideal into practice, Gandhi developed a social reform program
that called on activists in the Indian independence movement to work toward stimulating
Hindu-Muslim unity; fighting poverty, disease, and illiteracy; ending untouchability and
the caste system; and improving the conditions of women. He devoted his life to such
community-building activities and made clear that ending British rule would be
meaningless without the inclusion and autonomy of all Indian citizens (Nojeim 2004:110119; Fox 1989:42-44). The third term, aparigraha, reflected the common belief in
Hinduism and other religions that the desire to own ever more property and material
things was sinful and eventually produced violence. For Gandhi, leading a simple life
based on autonomy, self-control, discipline, and hard work was the best way to prepare
for the mental, physical, and spiritual challenges faced by participants in the struggle for
national independence (Terchek 1998:40-42; Fox 1989:44-45). This meant that owners
of land and capital should use their wealth for the benefit of society and provide for the
social welfare of their workers (Hardiman 2003:83-84). It also implied that both
privileged and poor Indian activists had to learn how to overcome earthly desires—for
prosperity, technology, food, sex, or glory—before they could contribute positively to the
Indian independence movement (Nojeim 2004:107-110).
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The symbol that synthesized these traditional ideas, and captured their practical
significance, was khadi or hand-spinning. Gandhi argued that modern technology only
contributes to social welfare when it allows the majority of people to work, meet basic
human needs, and participate in decisions concerning labor conditions. Most Indians
living under colonial rule, however, did not experience the benefits of the industrial
machinery introduced by the British. Especially in the countryside, the number of
unemployed and destitute was staggering, which undermined the nation’s sense of hope
and community spirit. Gandhi felt that promoting khadi, a typically Indian production
process, would allow the poor Indian masses to regain their sense of pride, take control of
their material welfare, and help build a new society based on the autonomy of ordinary
people (Terchek 1998:120-123). He initiated a spinning campaign in 1919 and arranged
for the distribution of spinning wheels throughout the country. The spinning wheel later
appeared on nationalist flags, while white homespun clothing (including the “Gandhi
cap”) became the uniform of upper-caste as well as untouchable activists (Hardiman
2003:78-79; Tarlo 1996). Thus, Gandhi and other Indian nationalists adopted and revised
cultural idioms like swadeshi, sarvodaya, and aparigraha, as well as traditional production
processes like khadi, with the purpose of politicizing the Indian population and making
the Indian independence movement as inclusive as possible.
The MST does not have a towering figure like Gandhi to identify and reinterpret
the folkloric idioms with significance for its social movement. It invokes traditional
principles through a more collective process guided by numerous leaders. In addition,
whereas Gandhi drew on complex philosophical concepts, the MST primarily uses
collective rituals called mística to express difficult ideas and tell painful stories with
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simple yet powerful symbols. Mística (or mysticism) originates in Liberation Theology,
a Christian movement advocating social justice for the poor that emerged throughout
Latin America during the 1960s, and helps MST activists build on legacies of past
struggles, sustain motivation for current efforts, and anticipate a brighter future (Wright
and Wolford 2003:310-311; Carter 2003; Branford and Rocha 2002: Lowy 2001;
Berryman 1987). The main forms of mística are songs, slogans, dances, theatrical
reenactments, and waving of the MST flag, which are recurring features of everyday life
in MST’s land occupations, camps, and settlements as well as during dramatic MST
gatherings, marches, and campaigns. Mística serves two important symbolic purposes.
First, the collective performance of MST rituals confirms age-old values of the
peasantry’s way of life: discipline, responsibility, sacrifice, conviction, perseverance,
humility, and honesty (Wright and Wolford 2003:311). And second, mysticism is crucial
for the construction and affirmation of MST’s collective identity, encouraging MST
activists to continue their social movement against structural oppression of landless
workers and for sustainable agriculture (Branford and Rocha 2002:245-251). As O
Jornal Sem Terra, the MST’s newspaper, indicates: “the more that the masses attach
themselves to their symbols, leaders and organization, the more they fight, the more they
mobilize and the more they organize themselves” (Wright and Wolford 2003:311). Thus,
mística practices not only tap into existing cultural idioms that resonate among landless
peasants, but also ensure that religious and historical references stimulate MST activists
to engage in radical cultural and political action.
Although mística symbols and rituals strongly influence the emotional
experiences of participants, they are not spontaneous or impulsive. In 1988, MST
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activists recognized the need for an oppositional collective identity to sustain the
confidence of landless families occupying unused Brazilian farmland and building camps
in the face of violent repression. They held a meeting to discuss how to make the MST’s
image more militant. At the end, the landless families selected a new repertoire of MST
symbols: a red flag, a red baseball cap, and a red t-shirt, all imprinted with a map of
Brazil and two peasant activists. And later, they composed new songs and slogans that
affirmed their pride as landless workers and MST activists, and emphasized their
importance for Brazilian society. Instead of “Without Land Reform, There Will Be No
Democracy,” therefore, they started using more confrontational slogans like “Occupy,
Produce, and Resist!” and “Land Reform: A Fight for All!” The way MST activists use
these new symbols during mística rituals is also becoming more defiant (Branford and
Rocha 2002:250-251). In short, mística is an important weapon for politicizing landless
peasants, communicating messages, organizing land occupations, and mobilizing largescale campaigns.
Ideologies
Gandhi’s views on Indian autonomy, truthful ends, and nonviolent means formed the
ideological foundation of the Indian independence movement. In Hind Swaraj, his most
important text on national liberation, Gandhi (1938) challenged the notion that material
prosperity and technological progress were the driving forces of civilization. He argued
that, in fact, modern inventions like the railways enabled the British Empire to colonize
India and caused famines, diseases, and religious conflicts. Gandhi’s definition of
civilization, in contrast, stressed the moral and spiritual values of civilization and
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suggested that, according to these standards, traditional India was civilized and
benevolent while modern Britain was uncivilized and evil. His idea of the good life
emphasized restraints on material desires, skepticism toward new technology, and
cooperation rather than competition (Hardiman 2003:69). Contrary to extremist Indian
nationalists, who favored violent methods to end British rule and capture control of the
state, Gandhi stressed that India could only become truly free if it rid itself of internal
oppression and poverty as well as imperial domination. In his eyes, an independent India
governed by an authoritian Indian elite and political system based on self-interest would
be just as tyrannical as the current British elite and political system. For Gandhi,
meaningful swaraj (national liberation) was only possible if Indians from all castes used
nonviolent means to achieve truthful ends, both in everyday life and dramatic protest
campaigns (Nojeim 2004:101-105; Chabot, 2003:43-44; Terchek 1998:140-142).
The concept of satyagraha represented Gandhi’s theory for nonviolent opposition
to imperialism and other oppressive structures. To distinguish his approach from
Western passive resistance, Gandhi (1928:105-106) coined satyagraha and translated it as
“the Force which is born of Truth and Love” or truth force. The practitioner of
satyagraha believed that truth reflects every person’s unique sense of dignity, morality,
and autonomy, and that denials of such truth by dominant people or institutions must be
resisted actively, nonviolently, and publicly. According to a satyagrahi, fundamental
injustice to anyone affected everyone, because all human beings were interrelated and
therefore partly responsible for oppressive practices in their homes, communities, and
societies. Gandhi asserted that satyagraha was a moral weapon that all human beings—
young and old, rich and poor, men and women, highly-educated and illiterate, powerful
20
and powerless—could apply in all domains of social life, as long as they developed the
courage and strength to avoid violence in word and deed (Vinthagen 2005: 319-384).
Nonviolent action, from this perspective, was more than a pragmatic technique for
achieving peaceful social change; it was also a way of life for transforming interpersonal
relationships—for creating power with interactions based on love, dialogue, and
cooperation—with likeminded people as well as opponents (Terchek 1998:183). The
best way to convert the worldview and behavior of opponents, moreover, was through
voluntary self-suffering, which not only affirmed the Gandhian activist’s autonomy and
self-confidence in taking a stand against structural oppression, but also appealed to an
opponent’s mind, heart, and soul (Terchek 1998:180-184). In practice, satyagraha
involved the same moral principles and strategic guidelines we referred to earlier in our
discussion of positive nonviolence.
Gandhi adopted and revised ahimsa, a familiar principle in Hindu philosophy, to
clarify his understanding of nonviolence and love. For him, ahimsa meant more than just
the absence of harm to other (negative nonviolence); it was an active and liberating force
that “is hurt by every evil though, by undue haste, by lying, by hatred, by wishing ill of
anybody” (Terchek 1998:186). Ahimsa, in other words, made virtuous social life
possible and relied on a conception of love that stressed basic respect for all human
beings—for friends and family as well as for enemies—rather than intimacy,
sentimentality, or desire. Although nobody was able to attain such universal love for self
and others in reality, Gandhi urged people to devote their time and energy to the search
for perfection. His expansive view of love was spiritual and moral as well as political. It
did not deny conflicts over distribution of resources or recognition of differences, but
21
sought to create political relationships characterized by constructive dialogue and
cooperation with others rather than by self-interest and domination (Vinthagen 2005:
215-244; Chabot 2003: 23-28). While Gandhi acknowledged the significance of reason
for ahimsa, he emphasized emotional qualities like humility, openness, mutuality,
compassion, and love. And while he called on fellow activists to translate their own
glimpses of truth into action, he believed that everyone’s truth was partial and deserved
equal respect (Terchek 1998:185-189). Thus, each of the three major facets of Gandhian
ideology—swaraj, satyagraha, and ahimsa—stressed that transforming fear and
submission into courage and nonviolent opposition involved constant struggles on the
part of individuals, families, communities, and societies.
The MST’s ideology is founded on praxis: when landless people participate in
land occupations, they develop political consciousness and oppositional worldviews,
which in turn catalyze further action against oppression. MST activists therefore prefer
to synthesize practical insights of diverse thinkers rather than follow entire schools of
thought (Branford and Rocha 2002:65-67; Stedile 2002). In general, though, they draw
on Marxist theories for structural analysis of class struggle, agrarian reform, and global
capitalism, and on Brazilian educator Paulo Freire’s critical pedagogy to motivate and
teach landless people to take charge of their own liberation struggles. With its pluralist
and practice-oriented mixture of ideologies, the MST seeks to encourage oppressed
workers in Brazil and other parts of the world to challenge current agricultural production
and land distribution processes in countries with neoliberal states and societies.
MST’s land occupations in Brazil bring class struggles between capital and labor
to the surface and demonstrate the practical relevance of Marxist ideology. Landowners,
22
particularly those belonging to the Rural Democratic Union (UDR), argue that private
ownership of the means of agricultural production and capitalist distribution of wealth
stimulates modernization, economic growth, and Brazilian competitiveness in the global
marketplace. MST activists, in contrast, point to the fact that the extreme land
concentration associated with capitalist agriculture has made Brazil the most unequal
society on earth, despite its abundance of fertile soil (Wright and Wolford 2003:xvi).
They believe that the most oppressed people in Brazil, landless workers, need to join
forces and promote an alternative view of agricultural production, based on cooperative
relations among workers, equal distribution of land, and sustainable forms of agriculture.
The MST’s radical ideas about agrarian reform are clearly against the social and
economic interests of capitalist landowners, who have responded with violent repression
and anti-MST media campaigns. In addition to Brazilian landowners, however, the MST
also takes on neoliberalism in Brazil’s federal government (including in President Lula’s
current administration) and the global system as a whole (Martins 2003). As such, many
contemporary Marxists agree that the MST is among the most revolutionary movements
in the world today (Wright and Wolford 2003:307-315; Veltmeyer and Petras 2002).
The other major ideological influence on the MST, Freirean pedagogy, builds on a
Marxist view of structural inequalities and class struggle, but focuses on developing
political consciousness and agency among the oppressed through education. Freire’s
philosophy stresses particular forms of dialogue, cooperation, and love aimed at
transforming persons and communities, both in school and wider society (Freire 1993).
Instead of dominating students and treating them as passive receivers of knowledge,
Freirean educators create classrooms and learning communities where the relationship
23
between teachers and students is defined by mutual reflection, communication, and
participation among active subjects studying their social worlds. By negotiating power
and carving out spaces for collaboration, teachers encourage students to share
experiences of oppression, develop strategies for liberation, and engage in collective
struggles for social justice (Darder 2002:204; McLaren 2000:148-160).
For Freire (1993:70-71), love of humanity is the driving force enabling
oppositional dialogue and cooperation between teachers and students, and between
revolutionary leaders and the oppressed, because it motivates people to value and learn
from differences instead of obliterating them. Unlike sentimental love, which either
ignores or romanticizes differences between self and other, Freire’s conception of love
involves two-way interaction between unique and interdependent selves, who respect
each other’s differences and forge “unity in diversity” to achieve personal and political
emancipation (McLaren 2000:171). Practitioners of this kind of love challenge
oppression between (or within) persons and communities without “objectifying,
dehumanizing, or demonizing those who oppose [them]” (Freire 1997:63; see also Darder
2002:105). Although Freire uses distinct language, his views on love closely resemble
Gandhi’s notion of ahimsa.
MST’s ideological framework primarily serves as a practical map for action and
therefore frequently changes in response to new circumstances (Veltmeyer and Petras,
2002). MST activists refer to Marxist ideas to explain connections between capitalism,
landlessness, and agricultural exploitation, and to understand the need for political
struggle to achieve structural transformation. Yet they generally believe that violent
revolution would be counterproductive in the contemporary Brazilian context (Branford
24
and Rocha 2002:66). Freire’s understanding of love is more directly relevant in the
current situation. As various MST intellectuals emphasize, love of humanity and nature
motivates people to participate in mass direct action campaigns and social projects aimed
at developing alternative production methods, educational institutions, gender relations,
communication channels, cultural works, health care facilities, human rights laws, and
international relations (Friends of the MST (FMST); Landless Voices).
The MST specifies its love ethic on a poster entitled “Our Commitments to Land
and Life,” and prominently displayed in offices, settlements, encampments throughout
Brazil. The poster highlights that all human beings and forms of life are precious and
announces the following principles:
1) To love and preserve land and creatures of nature
2) To improve our understanding of nature and agriculture
3) To produce food and wipe out hunger. To avoid monocultures and the use of
agricultural poisons
4) To preserve living plants and to reforest new areas
5) To care for springs, rivers, ponds, and lakes. To struggle against the
privatization of water
6) To beautify the settlements and communities, planting flowers, medical
plants, vegetables,and trees
7) To adequately handle wast and combat any practice that will contaminate or
abuse the environment
25
8) To practice solidarity and fight injustices and aggression toward people,
communities, or nature
9) To struggle against land concentration so that all may have land, bread,
education, and freedom
10) To never sell the land that we have attained. Land is an absolute good for
future generations (FMST).
While landless workers obviously pay more attention to the natural environment than
Freire, their principles similarly rely on love as the main source of human liberation. One
concrete example of how the MST applies its first principle—“To love and preserve land
and creatures of nature”—is BioNatur, an organic seed producer introduced by MST
farmers in 1997. BioNatur provides agricultural workers with practical alternatives to the
chemical methods of agricultural corporations, allowing them to translate their
ideological commitments into practice and support the broader movement for agrarian
reform and social justice (FMST; Branford 2001).
Organizational structures
The organizational structures and oppositional networks of the Indian independence
movement shaped activists’ everyday life as well as public campaigns. On the one hand,
Gandhi founded several ashrams—small, self-sufficient communities—to prepare
residents for the spiritual discipline and cooperative habits required to practice
satyagraha. He also drafted a Constructive Program for improving social conditions in
other urban and rural communities throughout India. On the other hand, for major protest
26
events against British rule, Gandhi and fellow movement leaders forged strategic
alliances among diverse associations in various parts of the country, and prepared them
for the spiritual and practical challenges of nonviolent direct action.
Gandhi preferred to locate ashrams in the countryside, because he believed that
leading a simple rural life allowed people to discover their truth force and learn how to
implement it in the wider struggle for national liberation. Anyone could join a Gandhian
ashram—regardless of gender, age, religion, nationality, or caste—as long as the new
member committed to strict guidelines for how to think, speak, and act nonviolently.
Ashram residents translated these rules into practice by building their own houses and
facilities; including untouchables as equal members of their community; running their
own co-ed schools for children from multiple backgrounds; producing their own clothing,
sandals, and food; and coming together to eat, work, learn, and meet at regular times each
day (Nojeim 2004:119-121; Iyer 2000:75, 299; Gandhi 1951:192-196, 223-225).
To confront the large number of social problems in India’s overcrowded cities and
poor villages, Gandhi outlined a national Constructive Program, founded on the cultural
idioms discussed earlier. The Constructive Program focused on grassroots issues facing
the most oppressed individuals and groups and implied “bottom-up” transformation of
Indian society. Its main points included: communal unity among Hindus and Muslims,
ending untouchability, avoiding intoxicants, improving health and sanitation, developing
literacy and adult education programs, decentralizing economic production, promoting
women’s rights, preventing absolute poverty and famines, and especially popularizing
hand-spinning. For Gandhi, such social and cultural work was crucial for the Indian
independence movement, because it allowed the Indian population to build alternative
27
social institutions and cultural ways of life before the end of British rule, infusing
nonviolent direct action campaigns against the colonial government with positive content
(Bondurant 1971:180-181; Gandhi 1945). “[The] handling of civil disobedience without
the Constructive Programme,” as Gandhi once remarked, “[is] like a paralyzed hand
attempting to lift a spoon” (Iyer 2000:307). He also used the Constructive Program to
convince leaders of the Indian National Congress and other governmental institutions to
dedicate themselves to serving—rather than merely representing—their constituency, and
to engaging in mutual dialogue and cooperation with the oppressed toward the common
goals of autonomy and social justice (Terchek 1998:164). Thus, the ashrams and
Constructive Program represented the community-building dimension and institutional
basis of the Indian independence movement, which enabled activists to struggle for
liberation during as well as before and after confrontations with the British Raj.
The famous Salt March campaign of 1930-1931 illustrated the organizational
preparations and alliances involved in nonviolent direct action (Dalton 1993; Sharp
1960). After being appointed by the Indian National Congress to lead a mass civil
disobedience campaign in 1929, Gandhi drafted specific demands of the British Viceroy
and published specific rules for individual and collective satyagraha, emphasizing that
participants should either engage in civil disobedience, contribute to constructive work,
or be in prison (Weber 1997:63-64). Next, he decided that the campaign would focus on
the British tax on salt, a basic necessity for the poor in India, as a powerful symbol of
unjust rule (Weber 1997:84). Having selected the target of nonviolent direct action,
Gandhi outlined the goals of the Salt March: it was to be a spiritual pilgrimage to
28
dramatize the issue for diverse groups of Indians and invite them to join a nonviolent
revolution against the British Raj (Weber 1997:88).
After identifying the target and purpose of the Salt March, Gandhi chose to have
his most committed and disciplined ashram residents initiate the event. Shortly before
the starting date, he wrote an ultimatum letter to the British Viceroy and picked 81
activists for the first group of marchers, who received special instructions on what to do
and how to behave during their journey to the Dandi coast (Weber 1997:109). In
addition, Gandhi appointed local leaders to prepare people and grassroots associations in
towns along the route of the march and called on local students to educate residents and
build the necessary facilities at rest areas (Weber 1997:110-113). The Indian National
Congress also got involved: it sent out a bulletin with Gandhi’s letter to the Viceroy and
rules for participation, while provincial committees got ready to take over leadership in
their districts when Gandhi got arrested. And finally, with various local and regional
networks prepared for large-scale mobilization, Gandhi published detailed plans for the
people and villages participating in the Salt March and the nationwide civil disobedience
campaign that would follow (Weber 1997:116-124). In short, Gandhi wanted leaders and
other participants in the Salt March campaign to apply the same guidelines and values as
in his ashrams and the Constructive Program, but now in the form of large-scale and
highly-visible direct action against the state.
Land occupations, camps, and settlements shape the organizational structures,
everyday dynamics, and public campaigns of the MST. While each land occupation is
unique, it has generally followed a similar pattern since the MST emerged in 1984. First,
a group of MST activists (known as militantes) go into a region to talk with poor landless
29
people and try to persuade them to invade unproductive land and build their own
agricultural community. The militantes prepare the landless people for the challenges of
camp life and teach them MST songs and slogans. After recruiting a sufficient number of
landless individuals and families, militantes help them gather the necessary resources—
such as plastic for the tents, farming equipment, and food supplies—and select an area
with water and potentially fertile soil. Then they hold a meeting to discuss plans for the
occupation and finally, in the middle of the night, everyone gets in buses taking them to
the site. If the landless people arrive at their destination without being obstructed or
repressed by security guards, they bring their supplies to the site, clear an area for black
plastic tents, set up camp, hold their first assembly, and celebrate by raising the MST flag
and performing mística. By morning, the camp has been established and the public
conflict begins: local media cover the occupation, the landowner demands that authorities
evict the families, and MST lawyers argue that the occupied land was previously
unproductive and therefore unconstitutional. The MST squatters succeed when the
National Institution for Colonization and Agrarian Reform (INCRA) inspects the land
and decides to expropriate it; their occupation fails when the landowner persuades local
authorities to evict them (Branford and Rocha 2002:68-88; Stédile 2002:5-6).
If the MST families win the right to the land, they turn their temporary camp into
a permanent settlement and focus on agricultural production and community-building.
To instill discipline among all settlers (who often include alcoholics, drug addicts, people
from urban slums, petty criminals, and so forth) and establish a communal routine, the
initial rules of camp life are often strict and rigorously enforced. To remain in the camp,
residents have to wake up early to go to the morning assembly, participate in numerous
30
mística activities, join commissions and participate in decision-making, prepare for
violent confrontations with landowners or police, perform daily tasks and work the land,
abstain from alcohol and drugs, and avoid physical abuse of spouse and children
(Branford and Rocha 2002:87). In settlements, however, rules are less stringent, allowing
residents more freedom to organize communities, run meetings, make decisions, and
develop sustainable methods of collective production (Branford and Rocha 2002:95).
The typical MST settlement consists of agricultural and service cooperatives with
community members sharing resources, buying materials in bulk, marketing crops
collectively, and contributing 2% of profits to the national MST. Settlers also work
together in areas like farming, childcare, cooking, health care, cultural programs,
environmental projects, media, and education (Frank 2002:4; FMST). The division of
labor in settlements, moreover, is not based on gender, race, or class: men and women
from various social backgrounds work side by side in all areas of production and service.
Although residents often remain poor in terms of standard economic figures, their overall
quality of life and sense of dignity generally improves significantly (Wright and Wolford
2003:264-274; Frank 2002:5).
To make collective decisions, settlers develop local governance structures, which
in turn form the basis of the MST’s regional and national organization. On the first day
after occupying land, they elect a camp coordinator, who brings order to daily camp life
by dividing people into cells. Each cell then elects two representatives to the camp’s
coordinating committee, which forms commissions that take care of the settlement’s
basic needs. In these commissions, people from different areas get to know each other,
learn how to cooperate, and participate in decision-making. Some local settlers and
31
activists join regional and provincial meetings, where they discuss collective challenges
and elect regional leaders. Every two years, moreover, members from across the country
go to national meetings, where they elect a national commission, with representatives
from each major region in Brazil. And about every five years, the MST holds a massive
nationwide congress, with over 10,000 delegates, to debate the future direction of the
movement and decide on a new slogan for the next five years. (The current slogan “Land
Reform: For a Brazil Without Large Plantations!” captures the national strategy of the
MST since 2000. MST delegates will select a new slogan in November 2006.) This
organizational framework includes all levels of the MST in the democratic process and
allows both leaders and grassroots activists to contribute to decisions affecting people’s
everyday lives (Branford and Rocha 2002:251-254; Stédile 2002:7). Besides its domestic
efforts, the MST has also become an important member of Via Campesina (an
international peasant movement), the Global Justice Movement that emerged during the
Battle of Seattle in 1999, and the yearly World Social Forum where Global Justice
Movement activists meet to discuss their struggles against neoliberalism (FMST).
With its Agrarian Reform program, the MST seeks to spread the values and
practices of its settlers to other communities, both within and outside of Brazil. The
neoliberal economic model promoted by Brazilian and foreign capitalist institutions
favors large-scale farming, liberalization of agricultural production, and private
landownership, even though these policies exacerbate inequalities in land distribution
(Carter 2005:6). In contrast, the MST—together with progressive religious leaders and
organizations like the Pastoral Land Commission (CPT), the National Confederation of
Agricultural Workers (CONTAG), and the Brazilian Agrarian Reform Association
32
(ABRA)—proposes an Agrarian Reform program that encourages community ownership
of property and cooperative relations among rural workers; opposes excessive
unproductive property and land speculation; calls for government assistance and price
controls to prevent hunger and protect Brazil’s food sovereignty; promotes ecologically
sustainable forms of small-scale farming; and emphasizes that meaningful agrarian
reform requires social, economic, political, and cultural development that focuses on
human welfare and workers’ rights instead of corporate profits and global economic
competitiveness (Carter 2005:10-11; Martins 2003:2-3; Wright and Wolford 2003:101105, 152-179; Domingos 2002:6-7; Branford and Rocha 2002:225-239). In sum, the
MST contends that agricultural practices applied in its settlements can set the stage for
broader social transformation, in Brazil and abroad.
When strategic opportunities are favorable, the MST uses its organizational
structures to support massive and dramatic nonviolent direct action campaigns aimed at
transforming the Brazilian government. In 1997, for example, nearly 1,500 landless
settlers began a peaceful march to the capital to pressure the Cardoso administration to
implement the MST’s program for agrarian reform and land distribution. The so-called
National March for Agrarian Reform, Employment, and Justice covered about 1,000
miles and lasted several months. The leading groups of landless marchers, who started
from three distant corners of the country, arrived in Brasília on April 17, 1997, the first
anniversary of the Massacre of Eldorado de Carajás. They found nearly 100,000
Brazilian and foreign supporters waiting for them. This dramatic demonstration of public
sympathy for the MST and Brazil’s landless workers was the product of organizational
alliances with labor unions, other social movements, progressive churches, left-wing
33
political parties, international cooperation agencies, nongovernmental organizations, and
international networks, which had grown particularly strong and extensive after the 1996
massacre. Similar marches and demonstrations have taken place since then, and each
time the domestic and international networks of MST supporters expand, while the
pressure on the Brazilian state to meet MST’s demands increases (Carter 2005;
Hammond 2004; Wright and Wolford 2003:208-209; Branford and Rocha 2002:197-200;
Veltmeyer and Petras 2002; Stédile 2002). In some situations, the organizational
structures that allow MST activists to meet their daily needs and build alternative
communities also allow them to publicly challenge unjust institutions and authorities
(Vinthagen 2005: 369-384).
CONCLUSIONS
Now that we have addressed the elements that constitute the political culture of
nonviolent opposition framework for both social movements, we are ready to illustrate
how they intersect and contribute to a new synthesis of contentious politics and
nonviolent action studies. Starting with the Indian independence movement, we can see
how the moral shock of the Amritsar massacre in 1919 contributed to the emotional
experiences that persuaded a wide cross-section of the Indian population to recognize
Gandhi’s reinvention of cultural idioms like swadeshi, sarvodaya, aparigraha, and khadi
as relevant in the struggle against British rule and for national autonomy. Indirectly,
Gandhian love (in response to colonial oppression) supported the Indian independence
movement’s ideologies concerning Hind Swaraj, satyagraha, and ahimsa, which in turn
directly shaped Gandhian organizational structures for applying nonviolent methods and
34
principles in everyday life (in the form of ashrams and the Constructive Program) as well
as public campaigns like the Salt March (supported by the Indian National Congress and
broad alliances). These networks and institutions indirectly drew on and stimulated the
traditional symbols highlighted by Gandhi, especially the spinning wheel and homespun
clothing. Although our brief description of dynamic linkages is far from comprehensive,
figure 2 provides an impression of how all these elements—emotional experiences,
cultural idioms, ideologies, and organizational structures—were interrelated and came
together in the form of a Gandhian political culture of nonviolent opposition.
FIGURE 2 ABOUT HERE
In the case of the MST, the massacre of Eldorado de Carajás has shaped the
emotional experiences of Brazil’s landless workers, who have gained public sympathy
and translated their suffering into cultural idioms through various forms of mística, which
strengthens their resolve and collective identity. Moral righteousness in the face of
oppressive landowners and police troops indirectly confirms their pluralist ideologies,
blending Marxist views on exploitation with Freire’s pedagogy of the oppressed, which
in turn directly reinforce MST’s organizational structures for occupying unproductive
land, building self-sufficient settlements, promoting agrarian reform based on social
justice, and engaging in nonviolent direct action campaigns like the National March for
Agrarian Reform, Employment, and Justice. These institutions and alliances, moreover,
popularize and rely on folkloristic symbols and rituals like the MST’s anthem and flag.
35
Figure 3 shows the processes involved in the creation of an MST political culture of
nonviolent opposition.
FIGURE 3 ABOUT HERE
We suggest that our theoretical and empirical discussion points toward a new
approach for studying contentious politics and nonviolent action. By drawing on Reed
and Foran (2002), we incorporate relevant insights of cultural sociologists (e.g.,
Emirbayer 1997; Jasper 1997; Scott 1990; Sewell 1985, 1996; Skocpol 1985; Scott 1990)
as well as cultural studies authors (e.g., V.J. Reed 2005; Leistyna 2005; Alvarez et al.
1997) without neglecting interactions between protest groups and government authorities.
At the same time, we recognize the importance of social movement studies that focus on
political processes and institutions (Tilly 2004; McAdam et al. 2001; Tarrow 1998), but
also respond to their limitations in accounting for cultural dynamics (e.g., Goodwin and
Jasper 2004; Mansbridge and Morris 2001; Buechler 2000; Johnston and Klandermans
1995; Darnovsky, Epstein, and Flacks 1995; Morris and Mueller 1992). In short, the
political culture of opposition framework helps us move beyond dichotomies between
politics and culture that continue to haunt social movement scholarship.
Introducing the concept of political culture of nonviolent opposition, moreover,
enables us to continue efforts to merge the contentious politics and nonviolent action
fields without reproducing the binary of pragmatic versus principled nonviolence (Schock
2005; Ackerman and Kruegler 1994; McCarty and Kruegler 1993; Sharp 1973, 1990).
Instead of assuming that strategic forms of unarmed insurrection are distinct from
36
normative ones, we highlight both the culture of nonviolent politics and the politics of
nonviolent culture (Terchek 1998; Fox 1989, 1997; Lakey 1987). In addition, our
concept breaks new ground by stressing that meaningful and sustainable nonviolent
opposition relies on an alternative view of power. While scholars in the two fields
generally accept the Weberian emphasis on domination and “power over,” we suggest
that the Indian independence movement and Brazil’s MST were (and continue to be)
transformative due to their promotion of “power with” processes like love, dialogue,
collaboration, and reconciliation (Kreisberg 1992). Although flawed and incomplete,
both nonviolent social movements have demonstrated that ends do not justify the means,
that substituting one governmental tyranny with another does not produce more peaceful
and equitable societies.
While opening avenues for research, our theoretical framework and case studies
raise a number of questions that need to be addressed. First of all, we only examine one
of the political cultures of the Indian independence movement and the MST. As Reed
and Foran (2002:338) observe, however, social movements and revolutions usually
articulate multiple political cultures of opposition, some of which may contradict each
other. Secondly, in reality, the connections between emotions, ideologies, cultural
idioms, organizational structures, and political cultures of nonviolent opposition are much
more complex and fluid than we could discuss in a few paragraphs. The relationships
between these elements are reciprocal, interdependent, ever-changing, and embedded in
various fields of interaction. And finally, we only provide a few illustrative examples of
how each element applies to two cases, which both deserve more rigorous and extensive
analysis. We invite fellow scholars of nonviolent action and contentious politics to join
37
us in exploring additional political cultures of (nonviolent) opposition for each social
movement, specifying our framework in greater detail, extending our case studies, and
contributing other case studies. Most importantly, though, we urge students of
contentious politics and pragmatic nonviolent action to focus on the interplay between
cultural and political processes. By moving beyond artificial dichotomies, such work
would be more directly relevant to contemporary activists, who are reinventing and
applying their own political cultures of nonviolent opposition in struggles for social
justice throughout the world.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
We thank participants in the Symposium on Nonviolent Research at the University of
Tromsø in Norway, Sean Scalmer, John Guidry, Sidney Tarrow, Charles Tilly, and the
reviewers for helpful comments. Address correspondence to: Sean Chabot, Department
of Sociology and Criminal Justice, Eastern Washington University, 314 Patterson Hall,
Cheney, WA 99004; e-mail: schabot@mail.ewu.edu.
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